


smells like teen spirit

by orphan_account



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dave invites him to the TCA's, he has to ask what they are first, and Dave says, uncomfortably, “Uh, the Teen Choice Awards, they wanna--” and Neal interrupts him by laughing his ass off, and hooting, “Just how old do they think you are, man? Seventeen?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	smells like teen spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as comment fic, but then it sorta kept growing. This is the finished and edited product. Co-written by livejournal users **courts** and **kaia_kyrial**. Can't even remember who wrote what anymore, but all credit owed to them even though they don't have work posted on this archive.
> 
> This is not a new work, just moving things from livejournal for archiving purposes.

When Dave invites him to the TCA's, he has to ask what they are first, and Dave says, uncomfortably, “Uh, the Teen Choice Awards, they wanna--” and Neal interrupts him by laughing his ass off, and hooting, “Just how old do they think you are, man? Seventeen?” He can picture the face Dave is making; knows it so fucking well, but he just settles himself and waits for Dave to stop sulking down the phone at him.  
  
“They want to give me an award for best male reality music show star,” Dave says, petulantly. “I don't want it, okay, but my manager said I had to go, and it turns out I signed something in my contract saying I'd do this kind of shit.”  
  
“Dave, haven't you learned yet to always read the small print?” Neal asks, quite reasonably. “Remember when you signed that contract promising you'd blow Josh for every song he produced for you?” Dave goes quiet again, and Neal sighs, and says, “Not that you wouldn't have done it anyway, but the point is read the fucking small print next time.”  
  
“Whatever,” Dave says. “I'll just see if Andy's free; at least he'll only mock me half as much as you, asshole.”  
  
Neal relents, and says, “What time do you wanna pick me up? I assume it'll be a limo, right? You know I don't put out if the guy doesn't make an effort first,” and Dave says, “I'll send a car for you at five; my manager wants you to see my stylist first,” and hangs up before Neal can argue.  
  
Dave's 'stylist' turns out to be a four-person team who stare at him, open-mouthed, when he walks in, and then seem to go into overdrive, discussing what outfit they should put him in, and what to do with his hair, and how to make him just a little less... They don't specify less 'what' exactly, but he can figure it out. It's the tattoos and the piercings; he guesses he's not what they were expecting.  
  
He's always been happy with who he is, but now, looking at Dave all prettied up and carefully styled, and finding himself wearing a tie, for fuck's sake, he feels awkward, out of place. He doesn't know why the fuck Dave wants him there - he'd joked about asking Andy, but Andy would be the better choice, by far. Andy would have these people cooing over him and eating out of his hand, whereas they all seem slightly terrified of Neal, like he might bite. He might; he hasn't decided yet. It's pissing him off, and making him feel uncomfortable, and he hates that.  
  
He escapes to the bathroom because he can't fucking breathe with all of them bustling around and tugging at a sleeve, or pinning his cuffs back all the time. He's staring at himself in the mirror, his hair carefully styled, wearing goddamn foundation and concealer and fuck knows what else, his beard neatly trimmed - one of them even plucked his eyebrows - and he doesn't entirely recognize the person staring back at him.  
  
The piercings look wrong on this new face, and he knows how they'll look at the show - in the midst of all those dewy-eyed teenagers with flawless skin and coltish limbs. He'll stick out like a sore thumb, and he's never cared about that, but this is for Dave, and he doesn't want to embarrass him. He tugs at one of his piercings gently, thinking about it. He hasn't taken them out since he had them done, does everything with them, has never wanted to remove them before. They're a huge part of who he is, but... he knows Dave's cool with them (in fact, Dave likes nothing more than Neal's mouth wrapped around his dick, the edges of the metal scraping over the skin, Neal so fucking careful always, so gentle with him.) but his management probably won't be; they're probably having shit-fits over the fact that Dave is bringing him as a date, and not Kim, or some other pretty girl.  
  
He could take them out; it wouldn't be a big deal. Just for the photographs, just for the show. He bets Dave's stylists could even find him a velvet lined box to keep 'em in, or some shit like that. He flicks the piercing, thinking about it, and then the door opens and Dave comes in.  
  
“Dude, what's taking you so long?” he asks, and then he looks at Neal, really looks, the way only he can, and he's pretty fucking smart, Dave is, so he says, “No. Don't even think about it. I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want _you_ there, dude.”  
  
He steps closer, tugs Neal round to face him, and says, “I'm sorry about all this,” waving his hand loosely, indicating everything - the makeup, the clothes, the hair, the four people in the other room all chattering away on their cellphones about designers and ETA's and photo-ops.  
  
“You don't have to do any of it; just change back into what you were wearing and wash it all off,” Dave says, so fucking earnest, and Neal says, “It's okay. I kinda like the hair, actually, and this tie is rocking.”  
  
He frowns at Dave and says, “Why are you wearing yours like that, though?”  
  
Dave laughs and says, “I don't fucking know, I didn't care enough to ask,” and then Neal leans in and kisses him, slight touch of mouth to mouth, barely there, just a tentative hello. Dave deepens it, almost immediately, and his tongue seeks out Neal’s piercings, flicking at them, playful.  
  
“Keep them in,” Dave says. “And every time I want to kill whoever got me into this, I'll think of you and not give a fuck.”  
  
“I can do that,” Neal says, and together they exit the bathroom, ready for whatever the night brings.  
  
  
#  
  
  
The thing is, Dave knows it maybe wasn't his best idea ever, bringing Neal to the goddamn TCA's. Between watching Neal smile awkwardly at Jeff Archuleta, and dodge tweeny Disney stars who were equal parts fascinated and repulsed by his tattoos and piercings, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. He didn't give a fuck about his management, or the plastic people frowning at Neal, and he really didn't give a fuck about Jeff Archuleta's disapproving face.  
  
He did give a fuck about Neal, though, and he hoped Neal wasn't having too shitty a night, especially when Dave and Archie and his dad got to sit at the front in comfy armchairs, on display like fucking products, and Neal got stuck way in back.  
  
He worried about it through all the televised segments, and during every break he jumped out of his seat to go find Neal, who just laughed at him and told him to stop being such a fucking neurotic mess.  
  
Oddly enough, it was a totally unlikely source that proved the calming influence. Jeff was off somewhere, talking to Archie's management he thought, and Miley Cyrus was thankfully not hanging around for once, and as he slid back into his seat, just in time for the next segment to start, already missing Neal, Archie leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Your boyfriend must really love you to sit through this.”  
  
Dave gaped at him, astounded, and then the cameras switched on, and fucking zoomed right in on him and Archie, and he snapped his mouth shut and tried to look interested in whoever was about to receive an award.  
  
When the cameras moved away, Archie reached over, patted Dave on the shoulder, and said, “I wouldn't sit through this if I didn't have to, and he totally doesn't have to; he's just doing it for you,” and actually winked at him.  
  
Dave was so flabbergasted he didn't say anything else, and then thankfully the show was over, and he was forcing his way through the crowds vacating the auditorium to find Neal, and he only realized when Neal looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow that Archie had followed him.  
  
Archie leaned around him, grinned at Neal, and said, “Cook's really lucky to have a boyfriend like you, and I like your piercings. Did they hurt?”  
  
Neal sputtered a little, which was the most awesome thing ever - no one ever believed him when he told them Archie was a comedic genius until he proved it - and then said, keeping as straight a face as possible, “Yeah, he is pretty lucky to have me. And yeah, they hurt a little, but it's just like getting any other part of you pierced, and they're pretty cool for kissing.”  
  
Archie reddened a little, but he also leaned forward and said, “Really?” in this kind of --breathy voice, and oh jesus, Archie and Neal were flirting; the world would surely be coming to an end any fucking minute.  
  
Dave grabbed Archie by the shoulder and said, “Yeah, Arch, they're pretty awesome to kiss, but you don't get to kiss my boyfriend unless you ask nicely,” and holy shit, Archie looked like he was actually contemplating it, fuck.  
  
Just then, Jeff turned up, and Dave didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Maybe a bit of both. He pretended not to notice the looks Archie kept sneaking him, and in the limo he had to sit on his hands not to reach for Neal, until they'd dropped Jeff and Archie off, finally, and he's about to lean over when Neal comes to him first, like always, knowing what he needs before he even knows himself.  
  
  
#  
  
  
After, after the show is (finally) over and they've gotten away from the press and the paparazzi and that damn Miley girl (seriously, what is her deal?), after they've gotten in the limo and dropped off Archie and his dad at their hotel, after Dave lets that painted on smile fall off his face and his head fall back against the seat; that's when Neal wants him the most. And he really can't help but scratch his fingertips down from behind Dave's ear and over his collarbone until he can feel Dave's pulse steady and sure against his skin, because that's the real smile breaking through, even though it's mostly directed at the ceiling and Dave's eyes are still closed. And he really can't help tracing the same path in reverse with his teeth until his voice comes out as a rumble against Dave's ear.  
  
"Some kind of fuckin' rockstar now, huh. Can't believe you made me sit through that."  
  
Dave doesn't even move, except his hips shifting against the leather seat, impatient.  
  
"You'd do it again if I asked though."  
  
And really, there's no question in Neal's mind, because it's Dave, and of course he'd do it, he'd do anything, follow him to fucking LA, city of hollow people just to catch a glimpse of that real smile, of the real Dave underneath the mask.  
  
"Yeah, s'long as I get some fuckin' action out of the deal."  
  
And Dave just grins, because he knows the truth even if no one says it out loud.  
  
  
#  
  
  
By the time they make it back to the hotel, Dave's hair looks like it's been fucked six ways from Sunday and Neal's lower lip is swollen and red. Dave's glad, for once, that it's sometime after midnight and there aren't many people hanging out in the lobby. The man at the front desk looks at them a little oddly, opening his mouth like he wants to say something but then decides otherwise and just shakes his head and turns his attention back to the computer in front of him.  
  
Neal holds it together until they make it into the elevator, pushing Dave up against the wall with his body, his hips moving in a slow grind that makes Dave bang his head back against the brushed metal wall.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Neal just grins, looking feral with his 'fangs' glinting in the soft fluorescent light.  
  
"M'getting there, don't you worry."  
  
When the elevator door finally opens, Dave grabs hold of the red tie that his stylist had insisted on, already hanging loose around Neal's neck, tugging Neal closer so he can lick at that red mouth once more. He drops the tie and walks off the elevator, leaving Neal standing there with a slightly dazed expression on his face. Neal jerks out of his stupor just as the elevator doors start to close, practically jumping out of the elevator while Dave doubles over laughing.  
  
Neal scowls, punching Dave in the arm as he walks by on the way to their room.  
  
"I see how it is. Force me to sit through some Disney channel on speed teenybopper gala and then bring me home and laugh at me. Shoulda brought that Archuleta kid home with me instead, he seemed pretty damn impressed with me."  
  
The smile drops off Dave's face instantly, because even though he knows Neal's just shitting with him, he also knows that Arch can pretty much wrap anybody he wants to around his finger and he doesn't intend to share his boyfriend tonight, no matter how nicely someone asked.  
  
Neal must notice that Dave's mood has shifted because he's suddenly back invading Dave's space, his mouth soft and teasing against Dave's neck and ear.  
  
"You know I'm just kidding, Dave. Fuck, it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself. Don't want TMZ followin' me around LA or some shit, askin' if the American Idol likes dick or not."  
  
Dave runs his hands up Neal's sides, tugging the once crisp shirt out of his pants and seeking out the warm familiar skin underneath.  
  
"I don't know, I think I might need a little reminder on how much I like yours. Or were you planning on talkin' for the rest of the night, cuz I've got a plane to catch in like... six hours."  
  
Neal just grins.  
  
"Six hours, huh? Bet you'll be walking funny on stage tomorrow if I fuck you for that long."  
  
They're actually standing in the hall with Dave's back pressed to the door and Neal's tongue doing wicked things inside Dave's mouth for a full two minutes before Neal has the sense to pull away and say, "Maybe we should take this inside, yeah?"  
  
Dave's breathing like he's just run a marathon and his head drops to Neal's shoulder for a second as he tries to catch his breath. Then, looking back up at Neal with an expression that he knows must look completely wanton and more than a little desperate, Dave replies, "Yeah, inside."  
  
Somehow, they find the keycard in Dave's pocket, a search that isn't entirely unpleasant, actually. And they manage to stumble into the room before Neal growls, actually growls, and pulls Dave to him in a rough, frantic kiss.  
  
"Fuck . . ." Dave groans as Neal's lips move to his neck and he can feel the cold steel along with the hot moisture of Neal's tongue and, God, he'd almost forgotten how fucking hot that sensation was. "Shit Neal, if I'd known how turned on you'd get by meeting Miley Cyrus I would have started TiVoing Hannah Montana a long time ago," he quips.  
  
He can feel the vibrations of Neal's chuckle against his throat and the sensation travels straight through to his cock, almost making his knees buckle beneath him. Then, Neal is lifting his head and smirking down at him and the look in his eyes is probably enough to actually make his knees give out, but Neal has his arms wrapped firmly around Dave's waist, holding him up. He flicks his teeth over one of his piercings and says, "Am I gonna have to shut that pretty mouth of yours for you, Dave?"  
  
Dave's breath catches for a moment, both from the words and from the movement of Neal's tongue as it follows his teeth over the smooth metal in his lip. "I, uh . . . yeah, I think you might," he manages to say.  
  
And then Neal's arms disentangle from his waist and he's nudging Dave's shoulders, urging him down. And Dave's on his knees, right between Neal's legs and, yeah, he can think of a few things to do with his mouth for a while.  
  
Neal fingers the button on his dress pants, but Dave ignores the effort, surging forward and pressing his mouth to the hard heat beneath even through the barrier of clothing. He hears a grunt of pleasure from Neal and, fuck, it's been too long since they've done this. Dave has missed the feel of Neal's fingers tugging just a little roughly at his hair; he's missed Neal's scent and his sounds and just fucking everything. Dave tugs impatiently at the zipper even as his mouth refuses to be displaced.  
  
Finally, when he and Neal manage to somehow get the pants unfastened and pushed down, Neal's cock springs free. And Dave has never in his life been so grateful that the good Doctor despises underwear. He leans in and licks a long stripe down the shaft with the flat of his tongue, driven on by the way that Neal's fingers tighten against his scalp and his breath comes out in greedy little huffs. The exhalations turn to whines as Dave travels back up Neal's length, placing sucking kisses all the way up to the tip.  
  
"Dave, fuck . . ." he says on a sigh and Dave thinks his name has never sounded so good to him. He wants to hear Neal say it again, to chant it while he pounds into Dave's body, to scream it while he comes apart beneath Dave's touch. Dave relaxes his jaw and engulfs Neal, with all of these thoughts still playing across his mind, and concentrates all his efforts on getting that hoarse, desperate pleading of his own name from Neal's lips just one more time.  
  
He's humming a little against Neal's flesh, clutching at Neal's left hip with his right hand as he uses his left hand to explore the body writhing against him. Dave's fingers rub against the matting of hair on Neal's stomach, moving around to rub gentle circles into the small of his back as Dave picks up the pace and pulls a strangled groan of pleasure from the man above him.  
  
"Shit, I gotta . . . fuck," Neal says through gritted teeth as he yanks a little on Dave's hair, trying to ease him back from the spot where he's taken up residence.  
  
He pulls his mouth off of Neal, already whining, "Umm, let me, baby, come on," as he tries to sink back to his earlier position.  
  
"Uh uh, not if you want me to fuck you tonight," Neal says to him as he, too, sinks to the floor. They're face to face now, and Dave licks his swollen lips, which are centimeters from Neal's and, fuck, why can't he stop wanting every fucking part of Neal?  
  
He's bending forward to lick around the metal in Neal's lip before he really has much chance to think about it, letting his tongue slide across the juts of steel and savoring the familiar taste of the skin below. He loves that, how Neal tastes just the same, how his hands on Dave's back feel just like they always do.  
  
"I want you to fuck me," he groans into Neal's open mouth and he's sure that the sharp intake of breath he feels from the man before him can only be interpreted as ascent.  
  
The bed seems so far away and Dave is more than a little grateful when Neal shoves him to the floor and starts frantically pushing down his pants and boxer shorts. "Oh God, Dave, shit," he says as he gets his hand into Dave's pants and, oh sweet mother, Neal's gripping him so fucking tight and Dave throws his head back and gasps as his hips arch into the touch.  
  
"Now," he manages to choke out. He's not sure that he's ever wanted anything so bad in his life as he wants to feel Neal inside of him at that very moment. And it's been a while, so he knows it's not going to be easy. But he wants it so fucking badly, needs it and craves it and has to fucking have it.  
  
But Neal, in typical fashion, picks that moment to be tender and pulls a little tube of lube from some bag of tricks he's been hiding. The next thing that Dave knows, Neal's slick fingers are pushing against him and his body is yielding, opening and pulling Neal inside.  
  
"Fuck!" he cries as his body arches up.  
  
"Okay?" Neal asks and his lips are playing along Dave's brow, kissing away the perspiration and trying to soothe the tension that's pooling in his body.  
  
"I'm . . . fuck!" Dave cries. He reaches up to clutch blindly at Neal's forearms and says, "Please . . . God, please," and Neal seems to understand. Because, even though he's only just breached Dave's body, he pulls his hand free and strokes himself a few times, spreading the slick lubricant over his cock.  
  
Dave thinks he's getting ready to push inside of him, but then the fingers of Neal's other hand brush his cheekbone and Dave opens his eyes, just realizing that he's squeezed them shut, and looks up at Neal above him. He takes a second to focus, feeling a little taken aback by the emotions he sees playing across Neal's expressive face.  
  
"Dave," he says softly. "Dave, I . . ."  
  
"Yeah," Dave nods back before he can finish. "Me too. I . . . yeah."  
  
And that's all that's spoken. But, it's enough. And Neal is pushing into him and Dave's head hits the carpet and he has one fist clenched tight to his body as the other pulls at Neal's hip hard enough to bruise the pale flesh. Dave will enjoy that thought later, the thought of his fingers marking Neal, branding his body and reminding him of this night. But, that will all have to wait. Because Neal is driving into him and Dave's legs are wrapping around his waist and, fuck, he's not sure how he's gone so long without this feeling.  
  
Everything is frenzied and desperate and Dave feels like he's balanced on the edge of a huge free fall, his toes skimming the line as he looks out over the edge. And Neal's panting above him, and cursing and grunting. And it's hot, so fucking hot. And then he's falling, they both are, and Neal says his name again in that same tone and it's more than Dave needs. He arches up against Neal's solid weight and bites his own lip and shouts out his release.  
  
  
#  
  
  
Neal wakes slowly, reluctant to let go of the last threads of his dream. Dave had been there, sucking his cock, so fucking pretty on his knees just like always, and then he'd begged Neal to fuck him, and... he blinks, sleepily, and realizes it wasn't a dream - there's a warm, solid body curled into him; steady, even breaths on his neck; an arm slung comfortably over his waist. He glances at the clock on the nightstand - they have four hours left till Dave has to fly back to rejoin the tour.  
  
He's so tempted to wake him up, maybe suck him off, and then fuck him again, but he looks at Dave's face, peaceful, rested, and he can't bring himself to do it. Dave's been so fucking overworked lately, hardly stopping at all, and although he'd played his tiredness down, talked about all the amazing shit he was getting to do, like working with Rob Cavallo and Raine Maida, and playing to ten thousand people almost every night, Neal knew he was drained, running on nearly empty. Dave would never say he needed a break, though - no way he'd ask for even an extra hour's lie-in, always so fucking accommodating, and there were so many of the execs and PR's and assistants and shit, all asking for some of his time, and he was too damn polite to ever say no.  
  
So if Dave wouldn't - couldn't - take some time for himself, Neal would make sure he did. Dave's fast asleep right now, and he'd admitted to Neal that he hadn't been sleeping well lately - Neal would far rather Dave got some genuine rest than settle his own selfish desire for more of Dave. Not like that would ever be sated, though - he'd never not want Dave; want all of him he could get to have.  
  
It's enough right now just to look at him, long lashes fluttering gently on his pale skin, dark circles around his eyes, that fucking _mouth_ , shit, what Dave could do with that mouth. So Neal stays where he is, wrapped up in Dave, drowsing gently, and at some point he must doze off, because he glances at the clock again and it's two hours later, and Dave is facing away from him, now, tucked into the curve of Neal's body.  
  
He reckons it's time; he doesn't want Dave to be rushed getting to the airport, hates when Dave is stressed, so he's about to gently shake Dave awake when he has a better idea. He slides his arm over Dave's waist, down to his dick - they're both still naked, which is the way Neal likes it. It's soft in his hand, and he rubs his thumb up and down the length of it.  
  
If anyone had said to him, before he met Dave, that he would come to love one guy's dick almost more than his own, he would have laughed his ass off. Before Dave, there had been guys, sure, but nobody he fucked more than once, and mostly only when he was drunk, and he'd always had an eye more for the ladies.  
  
Dave changed all that, breezed into his life and turned it all upside down, and the kicker of it was, he wouldn't have it any other way. He wanted Dave all the time, thought about him when they weren't together, treasured the all-too-brief moments they got to snatch in between Dave's hectic schedule. And he missed every part of Dave, really, his smile, and his eyes, and his clever, strong hands; his laugh and his perfect fucking ass, but most of all, he missed Dave's cock. It was hard to explain, even to himself - he just knew it, by heart, and loved nothing more than wrapping a hand or his mouth around it, and making Dave say his name, beg, making Dave come so fucking hard he saw stars. He'd never get tired of it.  
  
He brings his hand to his mouth, licks it til it's good and wet, and takes Dave's cock in hand again, a little firmer, a little faster. He loves the feel of it hardening under his touch. And then he slides his hand up and over the head and-- what the fuck? There's... he can feel metal, there. Did Dave-- Dave's _got his fucking dick pierced_. Neal is completely taken aback, because while Dave has always been keen on tattoos, he'd never shown much interest in getting pierced himself, although he loved all of Neal's piercings.  
  
When had he done it, and why hadn't he said anything? And also, how the fuck had Neal missed it last night? He tried to think back - he hadn't really touched Dave's cock that much, and never the head, and they hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, so he must have just... not noticed. Dave could have mentioned it, though the little fucker. Neal's grinning now, amused and turned on. He thinks it's pretty likely Dave got the piercing for him - he's the only person Dave's fucking on a regular basis, he knows, now that the Kim thing is over.  
  
It's probably his favorite present ever from Dave, he decides, as he resumes the movements of his hand, toying with the metal barbell each time he reaches the head of Dave's cock, but not too much - he doesn't know how recent it is; doesn't want to cause Dave any pain.  
  
Dave starts to make some noises, just little mewls and pants, his breath coming a little faster, but he's still asleep, Neal can tell. He snugs his hips tight up against Dave's ass, his own neglected cock sliding in easy between Dave's cheeks, like it's coming home. He starts thrusting, gently, getting himself some much needed friction, and fuck, it's so fucking good, just like always. He's matching the movements of his hand to those of his hips now, forward and back, perfectly in time, and they're both getting hard, and Dave's making louder noises, now. Neal brings in some of the moves Dave particularly likes, twisting his hand on the upstroke, stroking his balls on the way down, thumbing the head and the piercing and gathering the pre-come beading there, using it to make things slicker, easier.  
  
He presses a kiss to the back of Dave's neck, then another, licking at the sweat that's forming there, fighting the urge to bite - Dave always jokes about how apt it is that he has 'fangs', given how orally fixated he is. Dave's moving a little more now, pushing back in time with his thrusts, seeking out the pressure of Neal's dick against his ass, pushing forward into Neal's hand, and he's getting louder all the time. Still not properly awake yet - probably thinks he's having one hell of a wet dream.  
  
Neal shifts his body slightly, using his other arm to push himself up, so he can lean in to Dave's ear and whisper, “Come on, Dave, come for me, baby.” He hardly ever uses endearments when they're both awake and sober and paying attention; he's not that kind of guy, but there's something about Dave, half-asleep, so needy and desperate, that makes him kind of desperate too. Dave mewls again, and pushes back hard against him, his whole body stilling for an instant, and then Neal feels the hot gush of Dave's release over his hand.  
  
Dave subsides, the tension flowing out of him, and then he yawns and says, sleepily, “Neal? Izat you?”  
  
Neal chuckles and says, “Who were you hoping for? Miley Cyrus?”  
  
Dave snorts a little, and says, “Can't be her; she don't have no dick, last time I checked,” and that's it, Neal's done for, he gives into the chuckles, snickering into Dave's neck, helplessly.  
  
“Mmm,” Dave says, rolling over so they're facing each other. “Morning. Nice way to wake up.”  
  
Neal says, “I reckon so,” and then Dave grimaces and says, “I'm in the wet spot.”  
  
He makes a pouty face at Neal, and Neal sighs and says, “I'm not swapping with you, dude. Why don't you go take a shower and then we can go grab something to eat?”  
  
Dave frowns, and then brightens. “Why don't you come shower with me?” he suggests, playfully. “And I can take care of _that_ for you,” he adds, reaching out to pet Neal's cock gently.  
  
“Excellent suggestion,” Neal agrees. He scoops up the lube from the nightstand - it always pays to come prepared, with Dave - and follows Dave to the en suite. It's fucking huge - he's never seen a bathroom this big before, but he guesses that's one of the perks of being the American Idol; a giant fucking bathroom.  
  
Once in the roomy shower, the spray turned up nice and hot, Dave turns to him and says, “Wanna fuck me?”  
  
Neal bites his lip, teeth catching on his piercings, and says, “You sure you're not too sore from last night?”  
  
Dave shakes his head, and says, “Please, Neal,” and he's fucking done for.  
  
He takes a step closer to Dave crowding him back against the wall of the shower, and reaches down to tug at his dick. “And what's this, huh?” he asks. “Forget to mention it?”  
  
Dave actually blushes, redness spreading over his cheeks and down his neck, and says, “Um, I just... thought I'd try it.”  
  
“When did you get it?” Neal asks, curious, fingers toying with the barbell idly as he waits for Dave's answer.  
  
“Last week,” Dave answers. “Do you, uh, do you like it?”  
  
Neal leans in, presses a kiss to Dave's mouth, and then says, “I fucking love it.”  
  
Dave's grin is wide and blinding, and it's his turn to yank Neal in for a kiss, sliding a hand down to wrap around Neal's cock. “C'mon, Neal,” he pleads, “Fuck me now, okay?”  
  
Neal grabs the lube and squirts a liberal amount onto his fingers. Dave hisses at the first finger pushing in, but he shakes his head when Neal asks if he wants him to stop, and says, “No, keep going; it's good.”  
  
It doesn't take long to prep him, and he's soon arching his back against the wall and saying, “Please, please, Neal, _please_ ,” sounding increasingly desperate, and Neal has never been one to deny Dave anything, so he replaces his fingers with his cock and slides in, nice and easy.  
  
Dave feels so fucking good, clenched tight around him, and he has to take a minute to steady himself before he starts to thrust. Dave's cock is twitching like it's trying to get hard again, and he chuckles, and sets up a steady rhythm. Dave hangs onto his shoulders, fingers digging in marks he'll still have after Dave's gone from his bed, something to remember this by for however long they last.  
  
He knows he's not going to last long, got too worked up getting Dave off, and too turned on by that fucking piercing; man, Dave had to have known what it would do to him.  
  
Dave says, “Neal, come on, come for me, okay?” and he does, just like that, biting at Dave's shoulder to muffle the sound of his orgasm.  
  
“So fucking hot,” he says, when he's calm again, and he reaches down to touch the piercing again, just because.  
  
“Man, you're like a kid with a new toy,” Dave chuckles, amused, and then they wash each other off and turn the shower off.  
  
They're dressed, and Dave has everything he brought with him - not a lot; he'd traveled light this time - and Neal's turning the door handle when he stops, turns back, and says, “Dave?” Dave looks at him, expectantly.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, and he means _for everything_ but Dave knows that, anyway. Dave reaches out and takes his hand, and he's not normally one for PDA's, but it feels kind of nice, actually, as they walk down the corridor together in search of breakfast.  
  
It feels... right.


End file.
